


Straight Up Chicago Style

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Straight Up Chicago Style [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-04
Updated: 2008-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Six fucking a.m. in Chicago in October, and Gabe can’t believe he’d forgotten how much he missed this.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight Up Chicago Style

**Author's Note:**

> The stripper AU. This would not have been half as much fun without [](http://cupiscent.livejournal.com/profile)[**cupiscent**](http://cupiscent.livejournal.com/) and [](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellyna**](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/), who were also kind enough to beta.

Chicago’s colder than Gabe remembers. He pops the collar of his jacket when he turns the corner to cross the street, in part to discourage anyone who might think about messing with him and in part because it’s fucking freezing.

Travis’ club isn’t all that hard to find, between the directions Travis had given him over the phone and the peeling numbers on the buildings surrounding it. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but then strip joints rarely do.

The bouncer gives him the eye when he comes in, but Gabe just flashes him a grin to say ‘hey, I’m harmless,’ and checks out what’s happening on the floor.

Rogues & Queens is a pretty cool club for how small it is. There are lights flashing and shirtless guys handing out drinks, and onstage there’s a tiny tattooed dancer working his way across the stage on his back, skimming his hands down across the inked birds on his stomach to frame the bulge in his leather trousers. It’s early yet, but the crowd seems pretty lively. The group around the stage is going nuts.

“Cover is ten,” someone says, and Gabe turns around to see that the bouncer has found him again. He’s not a huge guy, but there’s something about him that Gabe recognizes, a warning in his stance that says ‘try anything and I will fuck you up.’

“It’s cool,” he says. “Gabe Saporta. I’m here to see Travis.”

The bouncer looks dubious, but he just says, “Wait here,” and disappears down into the crowd on the floor. Gabe stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and watches the dancer onstage writhe like a fucking maniac as the music kicks up. It’s not the normal trip-hop techno club mix; it’s something darker, with a beat that’s already pulsing under Gabe’s skin.

“Gabanti,” a familiar voice says beside him, warm and mellow, and Gabe turns to find Travis climbing the stairs to join him on the entrance landing.

“You look good,” Gabe says after they hug. Travis looks better than the last time Gabe saw him, anyway, looks clean and sober and every inch the business mogul he’s become. “Look at you, you fucker, you’ve turned into a suit!”

“You gotta play what you’re dealt,” Travis agrees, making a show of adjusting his tie. “And look at you, Jersey punk, how’ve you been? Didn’t anyone tell you denim jackets went out in ’89?”

“Fuck you, I’m bringing it back.” Gabe thumps Travis on the shoulder, nodding towards the crowded floor. “What’s up with your dancers? When you said strip club, I thought there were hot chicks involved.”

“Not tonight,” Travis says, chuckling. “Wednesday night is ladies’ night, you should come around then. Wednesdays and Mondays, the rest of the time it’s boys’ town in here. This area of the city, we make more money on dicks, you know?” He gestures to the stage, where the leather pants are starting to come off, and claps Gabe on the back. “Come on, man, I’ll show you around. Let you see what you’re getting into.”

“I haven’t signed anything,” Gabe jokes, but he trails Travis down the stairs onto the floor. The noise from the crowd kicks up into a roar, but Gabe can’t see the stage from here, only flashes of tan skin and ink.

They pass the bouncer on his way back up to the landing, and Travis leans in towards him to be heard over the noise. “Pull Frank off and put him on floor duty, he’s about to start a fucking riot.”

The bouncer nods and disappears back the way he came. A few seconds later a younger kid with a dark shock of hair slips past them to cover the door, bouncing a little in time with the music. “That was Bob,” Travis says near his ear, pulling Gabe’s attention back to the floor. “He’s our security. Good guy, strong silent type. He looks after the kids. Does most of everything else, too, so if you ever need me, just look for him.”

“Got it,” Gabe says. He hears the crowd noise rise in disappointment behind them, so he guesses Frank just got the message and is on his way out.

“We’ve got two kinds of workers in here,” Travis continues as they make their way over to the bar. “The permanent staff, who do a little bit of everything, and the talent. The staff work security and the bar, and we’ve only got three, with one more rotating in and out. The talent work two shifts – on the stage, and on the floor. They serve drinks when they’re not onstage or getting ready.”

They reach the bar, and Travis leans over to complete some sort of secret handshake with the bartender, who is – impossibly – even taller than Travis and Gabe himself. “Ryland, this is Gabe, he’s an old friend,” Travis says. “Drinks are on the house. So is anything else he might want.” He winks at Gabe when he says it.

Gabe’s about to reply when he catches sight of the brunette in a short skirt and high heels stretching up to reach something behind the bar, calves pulled taut and curved almost as nicely as her ass beneath the stretchy material.

“No way, man,” Travis says, before he can even ask. “That’s Victoria, she’s one of the talent. She’s way out of your league.”

Gabe scoffs, but the music changes and he looks around at the stage reflexively, feeling the throb of the bass line come up through the floor.

The new dancer is tall and skinny, with not a lot of muscles that Gabe can see since he’s starting out fully-clothed. He thinks _twink_ and then corrects himself, because the kid isn’t that young. Early twenties, maybe, but not a teenager. He does a slow turn around the pole to start, nice and easy, and then hooks one leg around the pole and bends backwards until his hair is brushing the floor. He’s wearing worn jeans ripped so far up that they almost show the curve of his ass, and Gabe suddenly wants those legs wrapped around his waist like nobody’s business.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until he hears Travis chuckle and say, “Nuh-uh. He’s not even _in_ the league.”

Gabe tears his gaze away from the stage and says, “Fuck you, I’m in everyone’s league,” which is what he’d meant to say before he’d gotten distracted.

Travis just chuckles again. “You want to finish the tour, or do you want to stay and check out the entertainment?”

Gabe risks one more glance back at the stage. The skinny kid is losing his shirt, button by button, and the look on his face suggests that the crowd just interrupted him mid-orgasm. Gabe pulls his attention back to Travis and says, “Nah. Let’s do this shit.”

-

“Tell me again why you want to sell this place?” Gabe asks, after Travis has given him the full tour and they’re back on the floor, watching a curly-haired dancer fold himself in half to the heavy bass thrum of something punk that Gabe doesn’t recognize.

“Fifty-fifty,” Travis says seriously, leaning back on the bar. “This place is getting bigger than me. I need to hire more talent, beef up security, maybe even open up another location and split the girls from the boys. Think of yourself as backing capital.”

“I need to see the books,” Gabe says. His mind’s already running through the details, considering how he can make it happen. He holds up his hands and adds, “Not that I don’t trust you, bro, you know better than that. I just need to see what I’m getting myself into.”

Travis bobs his head, serene. “Take your time. We can go over them tomorrow night, if you want, let you spend your first night here having some fun.”

“Man, tonight we’re getting tanked,” Gabe informs him, punching his arm lightly. “You and me. When does this place close up?”

“Six fucking a.m.,” Travis drawls out. “I’ll leave Bob on it, though, take you out at a more reasonable hour.”

“Don’t forget you owe me a ladies’ night,” Gabe reminds him, craning his neck around to watch the hot brunette he’d seen earlier pour shots out for a line of guys beside them at the bar. “I want to see all the wonders this joint has to offer. The perqs of the job, if you will.”

Travis chuckles. “You haven’t even gotten up close and personal yet. You gonna let me buy you a dance?”

Gabe grins and leans in, hand on Travis’ arm. “Aw, honey, you shouldn’t have. For me?”

“Think of it as incentive,” Travis says, grinning. The lights of the club glint on his teeth. Gabe starts to reply, but Travis cuts him off by waving a hand at someone on the floor and calling, “Bill, get your ass over here.”

Gabe raises both eyebrows and turns to look. He’s about to suggest that the brunette behind the bar isn’t technically off-duty tonight and is therefore possibly available for other entertainments – and then he sees who Travis has summoned over.

“You called?” the guy asks, and Gabe gets an eyeful of certain previously-appreciated long limbs up close and personal. He’s doing the fucking hot chick thing, looking at Gabe sideways through his eyelashes and playing coy, and fuck but Gabe loves playing this game.

“William, this is Gabe,” Travis says, smiling wide. “He’s an old friend. I want you to take him into the back and give him a private dance, yeah? Make it good.”

There’s the faintest flicker of affront in William’s expression that Travis would suggest he’s ever anything other than good, but it vanishes without a trace in the next heartbeat. “Sure thing,” he replies, reaching out to catch Gabe’s hand. “Anything in particular?”

Travis glances at Gabe, amusement written all over his face, and shakes his head. “Nah. You just do what you do, baby.”

William tugs, just enough for Gabe to be surprised into pushing himself away from the bar. “Shall we?” he invites, doing the fucking eyelash thing again, and Gabe – unsurprisingly – isn’t saying no. A dance is a dance.

He’s seen the private rooms before, on the tour, but it looks different when he’s actually inside one, being pushed down gently into the chair set in the middle of the room. It’s sticky vinyl, a truly hideous shade of red-orange, and replacing these things is going to be the first order of business on Gabe’s list if he agrees to the partnership. Then William swings one long leg over Gabe’s lap, settling himself lightly over Gabe’s crotch, and Gabe stops thinking about the chairs.

“No touching,” William says, tossing his hair back out of his eyes and gyrating slowly, warming them both up. “You can look all you want, but that’s it.”

“It’s cool,” Gabe promises, stretching his arms back to lace his fingers behind his head. He’s done this before, he knows the drill. He watches with an appreciative eye as William works his way around in Gabe’s lap, leaning back against Gabe’s chest as he rolls his hips. “You get a lot of hands-on guys?”

“Most of them try to grab my ass,” William tells him, grinding down hard and slow, piquing the first stirrings of interest from Gabe’s cock.

“I can see that being a problem,” Gabe agrees sympathetically, “seeing how you don’t really have one.”

There’s the faintest hesitation, Gabe feels it, and then William continues smoothly on like nothing ever happened. It’s game on now, though, and Gabe doesn’t bother hiding his grin.

“You should probably take your shirt off now,” he suggests, spreading his legs a little to keep William trapped and slightly off-balance. “This is a striptease, right? They haven’t changed it since the last time I got one.”

He’s almost disappointed he can’t see William’s expression, because the way his shoulders stiffen suggests Gabe just got a pretty fantastic reaction. He turns around smoothly, though, nothing showing in his face when he resettles, fingers already on the top button of his shirt. He’s still a little sweaty from his stint onstage, skin glistening when he pops the first button loose, slow and coy just like the rolls of his hips in Gabe’s lap.

“You can do mine, too,” he offers when William is about halfway down and has recovered his politely-distant poise; eyes closed, hair falling in his eyes, swaying with the rhythm of his hips. William’s eyes fly open and lock on his, and Gabe grins at him and adds, “If you do that.”

He can see the reply on the tip of William’s tongue, and is almost holding his breath willing it to come out, but Gabe is a friend of Travis’, an honored guest; William bites it back and grinds down harder. Gabe is having the best night of his life.

William’s fingers are cool on Gabe’s skin when he undoes the shirt buttons, one at a time like a tease, not stroking his hands down Gabe’s chest until the last one has fallen away. Gabe lets him touch, arms dropping back to his sides, and comments, “Your hands are cold. Poor circulation?”

This time William doesn’t quite bite it back in time, but his answer is still tempered, falsely sweet. Gabe can almost taste the end-of-the-night fuck and his name on William’s lips. “I was carrying drinks before I got called back, sorry. Do you want me to stop?”

“Nah,” Gabe says, stretching out indolently and nearly unseating William in the process. “Go ahead. I can warm you up.”

William leans in to lick Gabe’s neck, and Gabe has the distinct impression he’s doing it so that Gabe can’t see his face. He enjoys himself for a while, basking in the feel of William’s tongue and his hands and his ass still gyrating over Gabe’s cock, and then offers, “Pants?” William sits back, eyes flying up to meet Gabe’s, and he continues innocently, “I just didn’t want you to forget.”

This time, Gabe gets to see the teeth grind. It’s a sweet, sweet victory, and only sweeter when William pops open the first button on his fly to reveal the first darkening hint of a treasure trail.

“You don’t stuff, do you?” Gabe asks, voice low, when William leans in again to balance himself as the second and third buttons come undone. “That could be awkward, I didn’t think of that.”

“Let me worry about that,” William says, much more evenly than Gabe thinks he really wants to say, and starts working his jeans off in a practiced undulation. Gabe thinks about kicking his legs out wider so that William can’t pull it off this gracefully, but he decides not to. It’s better to just enjoy the show.

“I’m not rushing you, am I?” Gabe asks, and if it comes out slightly breathless, it’s because William has apparently decided that the best method of shutting Gabe up is to just ride him until he can’t think straight.

William drags their chests together and bites Gabe’s earlobe, just hard enough to sting. His fingers dig into Gabe’s shoulders, kneading the muscle, and slide up to tangle in Gabe’s hair. “No,” he says flatly.

“Because we can go at your pace, if this isn’t working for you.” Gabe can’t help pushing his hips up when William rises, following the friction that’s been getting better and better by the minute. “I’m easy.” He leers when he says it, just in case William is slow to catch his meaning.

William isn’t. William swings around to drape himself against Gabe’s chest, drags his ass excruciatingly slow over Gabe’s cock, and sucks on his earlobe. “You talk too much.”

Gabe turns his head, close enough that their noses bump. William is finally starting to breathe faster, sweat breaking out anew on his skin, almost near enough for Gabe to stick out his tongue and lick up. He clenches his hands in Gabe’s hair, pulling hard enough to make him gasp when he says, “You should hear me in bed.”

“I don’t think I have to,” William says, and his ass grinds down, hard enough for Gabe to see stars and reflexively grip the sides of the chair to keep himself from grabbing William’s hips to hold him there. There’s a moment of white fuzz in his brain, and then he realizes the screaming agony he’s feeling is his cock protesting the sudden complete lack of friction. Protesting, because William is gracefully swinging back out of Gabe’s lap, pushing his hair back and pulling up his jeans.

“You have the room for another ten minutes,” William informs him, doing up the last button and shrugging on his shirt. “Tissues are in the corner.”

He tosses the box into Gabe’s surprised hands on his way out, and Gabe watches the relaxed swing of his hips all the way until the door swings shut.

He should resent that last insinuation, he thinks vaguely. But hey, he has the room for another ten minutes. It’s not like he isn’t going to use them.

-

Gabe had forgotten how much he appreciates being around someone he couldn’t drink under the table in less than three hours. They’re nearing hour four now, and both of them are totally plastered, but also totally still upright. Gabe personally considers this an achievement worthy of note, especially after the last two lemon drops.

They’re on their way back to the club now, because: “It’s Friday,” Travis had said, only slurring a little, tugging the brim of Gabe’s hat sideways to match his own. “Payroll night. They’ll have my balls.”

Six fucking a.m. in Chicago in October, and Gabe can’t believe he’d forgotten how much he missed this. “I’m never leaving,” he tells Travis as they sway with their arms around each other through the back door of the club. “Fuck it. Give me the papers, I’m staying.”

“Man, you haven’t even looked at the contract yet,” Travis says, but he’s grinning, a big dopey friendly grin, and Gabe gives him a big dopey friendly grin in return.

“He’s back,” someone calls from further in, and “Travis, get your ass in here and pay us,” someone else yells, and Travis pauses to bellow, “I’m comin’, keep your shirts on,” and Gabe nearly lands on his ass because he wasn’t prepared for the sudden stop.

“They’re strippers, bro,” he manages after he regains his balance, doubled-over laughing. “Isn’t that sort of counterproductive?”

“Off-duty strippers,” Travis counters wisely. “Trust me, it’s a whole different game.”

“Bring it on,” Gabe challenges, although he’s not sure exactly what he’s challenging, and the two of them stagger through the door together onto the floor of the club.

It looks different with the lights on, everything washed-out and bare, all of the dancers clustered around the bar and dressed like normal people in sweaters, coats and jeans. Gabe almost doesn’t recognize one of the strippers from earlier, because he’s wearing fingerless skeleton gloves, a hat and a gigantic blue scarf, bundled up so he almost looks like a marshmallow man. The attitude gives it away, though, especially when he smiles and yells pleasantly, “McCoy, sign my fucking check so I can get home and sleep for three hours, you jackass.”

“I’m right here, Frankie, hold it in,” Travis tells him, pulling an envelope down from over the bar and clicking open a ballpoint pen. “Ryl, you get tips?”

“Done,” the bartender says, sliding across a sheet of paper and an envelope full of bills. “We’ve split it already, you just need to sign off.”

“I’m so fucking drunk right now,” Travis says, passing out checks with more or less steady hands. “None of you better be calling me in the morning to tell me this shit bounced.”

“Stop forgetting to deposit money into your checking account,” Ryland tells him wisely, flipping over a neat row of shot glasses. “Then we’ll stop calling. All right, everybody, let’s fill ‘em up.”

Gabe watches as the skinny dark-haired kid from earlier pours tequila in a sloppy line down the row of glasses. “Friday night tradition,” Travis informs him, taking a glass for himself as the others do the same. He pushes the extra shot over to Gabe, then raises his glass and says, “To us.”

“To us,” everyone echoes, and then there’s a brief pause for drinking followed by the satisfying slam of empty shot glasses onto the bar. The tequila burns the back of Gabe’s throat, and he’s feeling a little fuzzy from all of the drinking, but he’s pretty sure he’s still missing something. Or someone.

“Hey,” he objects, listing a little against the bar. “Where’s my favorite lapdancer?”

“Bill went home already,” Ryland answers, directing it mostly at Travis. “He said he’d pick up his check from you tomorrow.”

“Smart kid,” one of the other dancers says, a short guy with streaks of red in his hair and huge white teeth. “We didn’t know you’d keep us waiting for half an hour.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Travis protests, although in fairness it was probably more like twenty-five. “You’re all fuckin’ needy. Hey, have you met Gabe?”

“Pete,” the short guy says, sticking out a hand that Gabe shakes firmly. “So you’re the one buying us out?”

“Partnership,” Gabe corrects. “And I don’t know yet, I have to look at legal stuff or some shit. Think it over.”

“Fuck, that’s not what you were saying ten minutes ago,” Travis drawls. “What happened to ‘I’m never leaving Chicago, show me where to sign?’”

“I sobered up,” Gabe says, although that’s an outright lie, and his cheesy grin probably shows it.

“Fuck that,” Travis says, sliding the bottle across the bar away from Ryland. “Have another drink.”

Gabe begs off only because he’s got to piss and he’s already going to be hungover as hell tomorrow. He finds the bathroom with minimal difficulty, and when he comes out everything’s gained that surreal clarity that comes from being drunk at 6 AM in a strange place with your entire future still wide-awake and waiting ahead of you. It feels good. He’s disappointed that his lapdancer already left, because drunk or not, Gabe had _plans_ for tonight.

It doesn’t stop him from sidling up to the hot brunette, Victoria, when he sees her outside in the alley, hunched into her coat against the cold and lighting up a cigarette. “Want a ride?” he asks, only leering a little bit on account of the amount of focus it requires to keep standing up straight. He really should have stopped before the lemon drops.

“From you?” she asks, raising her eyebrows and blowing a thin stream of smoke in his direction. “No thanks. You’d better be taking a cab.”

“Already called,” Gabe assures her, because he’s ninety-five percent sure that’s where Travis is now, getting them hooked up. “Want to share? Could be cozy.”

“You couldn’t get it up tonight even if I said yes,” Victoria says, cocking her head so that her hair doesn’t fall forward into her eyes. Gabe wants to protest, but the truth is she’s probably right and she knows it.

“I refuse to believe any man couldn’t get it up with a woman as beautiful as you,” he compromises, leaning against the wall because it’s a convenient source of support and it also makes him look cooler. He’s practiced the wall lean for many flirtations before this.

Victoria smiles at that, but the smoke she exhales isn’t a seduction, it’s a decline. “Save it,” she advises, stubbing out her cigarette. “You’re not even really trying.”

She’s right about that, too, unfortunately. If William were here, he thinks, that might be another story. That’s an insane thought to have, though, so he puts it out of his mind. Victoria is hot, and she’s here, and she’s got curves like nobody’s business. He shouldn’t be giving anyone else a second thought.

“Hey, you’re not driving, are you?” he asks, straightening up with a frown. “Friday night shots followed by everybody-goes-home is kind of a shitty tradition.”

“This is Chicago and we’re at a strip club, nobody here fucking drives,” Travis breaks in, and his arm wraps around Gabe’s shoulder a second later, warm and solid. “We don’t even own cars. Cab’s on the way.”

“Thank fucking god,” Gabe says. He’s joking, but he’s also beat. Sunrise is the worst time of day, when the night is over but you’re still not home yet to sleep it off and get ready for the next. The light makes his eyes itch.

He leans in against Travis while they wait after Victoria leaves them, walking across the street to catch the bus. Travis hums and leans back against him, and they wait in companionable silence for a while, listening to the city wake up around them.

“You’re really thinkin’ about coming back, huh?” Travis asks finally, when it’s gotten light enough that Gabe can see his breath fogging up the air in front of him. He says it like it’s not just a question, like he’s hoping he already knows the answer.

Gabe bobs his head a little, too tired to really think about what it all means, and says, “I’m thinking about it, bro. Just give me some time.”

-

Travis isn’t on the floor when Gabe arrives the next night, after sleeping for ten hours straight and then going to the greasiest spoon he could find for a meal that was worth at least three heart attacks. It feels like any other day after a night with Travis, and Gabe is feeling great.

Bob says he’ll go find Travis, and a few minutes later Gabe hears, “He’s up in his office, but he says hang tight, he’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Bob,” Gabe says, turning around, and then adds, “Woah, hey, you’re not Bob.”

“Brendon,” the kid in front of him says, bobbing a little. “We sort of met last night. I help Ryland at the bar.”

“Excellent,” Gabe says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can get me a drink.”

William’s on the stage, Gabe sees as he makes his way through the crowd to the bar. He’s not performing as much as he had yesterday, more moving to the music and providing background entertainment for the party going on at the edge of the stage. It looks like a whole group came together, and they’re paying more attention to one of the guys at the center – birthday boy? groom? – than they are to what’s happening onstage. Which is a pity, because William’s shirtless, working his way down the pole in a lazy, twisting slide, and his jeans are tight enough that they’re not hiding anything.

“On the house,” Ryland says when Gabe finally reaches the bar, sliding a full glass across the polished wooden surface.

“Yo, you need to stop giving me drinks for free,” Gabe jokes, toasting him with the glass. “It’s bad business, I’ll never leave.”

“We’re all under orders to be nice to you,” Ryland replies. “You get one more and then I start demanding tips.”

“I see how it is,” Gabe says, but he’s already making a mental note to leave a ten before he takes off tonight. He leans back against the bar because here’s as good a place to hang as any, and Ryland seems like a cool guy. Bartenders are pretty much universally awesome. “Busy tonight?”

Ryland shrugs philosophically. “It’s Saturday night. Weekend crowd always gets a little more rowdy. Are you staying in town for long?”

“A few days, at least,” Gabe answers, keeping one eye on the stage as he talks. William is gyrating slowly to the backbeat of the song thumping over the sound system, and Gabe abruptly and vividly remembers what that feels like when it’s happening in his lap.

As he watches, one of the guys in the big group pulls out his wallet and holds up a single, and William drops gracefully onto the stage and crawls over slowly to retrieve it. Gabe keeps watching as William rolls onto his back and raises his hips for the guy to slide the bill into the low-slung waistband of his jeans, and then he half-turns to Ryland and asks, “Got change for a twenty?”

“Are we in a strip club?” Ryland returns rhetorically, bumping the cash register open with a jingle and counting out a stack of bills. “Don’t make too much trouble,” he advises. “We’re all fond of that one.”

Gabe trades him for two twenties and says, “Keep the change, I’ll start a tab.”

“You got it,” Ryland agrees, and Gabe pockets the bills and heads out across the floor to the stage.

He holds up the first bill when he reaches the edge, casually twitching it from side to side. William’s spotted him; Gabe sees the flicker of his eyes glancing to the side and back, but he isn’t biting yet. The guy he’s dancing for is playing coy, waving a bill around without actually handing it over. Gabe rubs his fingers together casually and makes one turn into two.

The other guy notices, of course, because William’s attention is definitely split now, considering Gabe’s offer versus what he’s dealing with now. The guy frowns, digging for his wallet like he knows where this is going, but he doesn’t tuck the bill he’s holding into William’s waistband, so he obviously doesn’t. Gabe unfolds another bill, two into three, and grins.

William’s still hesitating. Gabe guesses this probably has something to do with how much shit Gabe gave him last night, so he goes up to four easy, still leaning casually against the edge of the stage and waiting. The other guy’s getting annoyed now, handing over the bill in his hand and fishing out another, trying for William’s undivided attention.

He’s not getting it. Gabe’s grin stretches wider when he sees the cock of William’s eyebrow, silently asking whether Gabe’s going to make it worth his while. He fans four into five, waggling them a little from side to side, and almost laughs as the other guy scowls and yanks a fistful of bills out of his wallet to match it.

William stays where he is, with the arrival of further incentive, but he’s holding himself angled, keeping one eye on Gabe. Gabe lets the guy get in a good grope, stuffing his bills down William’s pants with very little grace, and then he licks his finger and starts casually counting through his stack of singles.

William makes it over to him before Gabe hits sixteen. “What do you want?” he asks, sliding onto his knees at the edge of the stage, legs spread wide so the denim pulls tight across his crotch.

Gabe looks up innocently and smiles. “Your attention,” he replies casually, shuffling the bills back into a neater stack.

“You’ve got it,” William answers, arching until his back hits the stage, hips rising to counterbalance. “But you’d better be serious about those, because I just gave up a good tipper for you.”

“You weren’t getting anything more out of him and you know it,” Gabe says, sliding the first bill easily over William’s stomach to tuck into his waistband. “He was a dud. I, on the other hand, am the real deal.”

William’s expression is distinctly skeptical, but he doesn’t move away. He pushes his pelvis up into Gabe’s hand when he tucks the next bill in, muscles going taut under hot skin, and rolls his head to the side to watch Gabe through half-lidded eyes.

Gabe lets the next bill trail lightly over William’s skin before he relinquishes it, watching for a reaction. “You left before I got back last night,” he says, tucking the next one in amidst the crinkling wad of money already there. Male strippers really need more of a costume, he thinks. This shit is a lot easier with the addition of a brassiere.

“Exotic dancers aren’t actually the same as prostitutes,” William says, rolling his hips almost lazily into Gabe’s touch, although his eyes are alert and wary. “No matter what the modern media may suggest.”

“I don’t pay for my good time,” Gabe informs him, smiling wide. “Roll over, I’m running out of room.”

William narrows his eyes, considering, but Gabe just waits him out and eventually it pays off. He rolls smoothly onto his stomach, stretching out like a cat before pulling back onto his knees with both arms spread out on the stage in front of him. Gabe takes a second to appreciate the view before tucking the next bill into place.

“You really do have no ass,” he comments, although it’s not technically true, there’s the slightest curve visible between the small of William’s back and the spread vee of his legs.

“I don’t have a vagina either,” William says, arching his back and sliding forward again. “So I’m doubly confused as to what you’re doing over here.”

“Enjoying the view,” Gabe tells him truthfully. The muscles in William’s shoulders are bunched tight under the skin, pulled taut as he rolls his hips against the stage. “You smell like sweat,” Gabe continues, dropping his voice lower, making it a caress. “I want to lick it off of you.”

“You smell like alcohol,” William counters, rolling onto his back again, eyes hooded. “I really want a drink. We can’t always get what we want.”

Gabe tucks three more bills into William’s waistband, one at a time. “Are you always this hard to get?” he asks. “Or is this just for me?”

“Yes,” William answers simply. He bends his legs and pushes his hips up as Gabe slides the last bill into the pocket of his jeans, then rolls over onto his hands and knees. “Travis is looking for you.”

Gabe twists around to look, and catches sight of Travis’ curly head above the rest of the crowd, back near the door marked ‘Staff Only.’ When he turns back, William is on his way offstage, hips swaying and waistband bristling with crumpled bills. Frank’s on his way out to take his place, already shedding a light t-shirt to bare skin and ink.

“Well fuck,” Gabe says, somewhere between annoyance and admiration. It’s uncomfortably closer to the latter than it is the former. He shakes it off and goes to meet Travis.

-

“So we’re up to five new hires, not including another bartender, renovation on two rooms and a raise for everyone who’s been here full-time for more than a year,” Gabe recites, tossing another piece of paper into the pile that’s been steadily growing on top of Travis’ coffee table-cum-desk.

“And an expansion for the stage,” Travis adds, holding up another page with a rough picture sketched in on it. “Two more poles, maybe a balcony and a way to get up there. Frank and Pete are climbers.”

“Stage expansion,” Gabe echoes, adding the page to their pile. “Are you sure about only adding one more security, part-time?”

“Man, I’m not sure,” Travis admits. “The way it’s set up now, they can take care of themselves. Add another level in and expand the back, and there’s more Bob can’t see.”

“Plus, we put Brendon on the bar full-time and there’s no one to cover the door.” Gabe turns their pencil-sketch drawing of the stage around to get a better look at it. “Unless you or I are here constantly, and even then…”

“Even then, shit comes up,” Travis finishes. “Fuck it, let’s do it. Add another one to the list. We can hold off on that until the renovations.”

Gabe makes a little squiggle on the coffee-stained piece of scrap paper in front of him, frowning at their list of tallies and figures. “Was the $40,000 before or after we figured on the stage expansion?”

“Man, I don’t even fuckin’ know,” Travis says, sliding down in his seat on the low couch. “I lost track three thousand dollars ago.”

“Maybe we should add an accountant,” Gabe jokes, but in truth, he’s lost count as well. He stands up and stretches, dropping the pen onto the coffee table. “I’m going to piss. Let’s call a five, yeah?”

The club is already starting to lose some of its novelty, he realizes as he winds his way through the dressing rooms to the backstage bathroom. He hopes he doesn’t get turned off of strip clubs and half-naked bodies as an unexpected side-effect of buying in on this place. That’s a sacrifice he’s not sure he’s willing to make.

There’s no one backstage, all of the staff out on the floor or the stage, so it’s a surreal experience walking back to Travis’ office, with the heavy bass muffled and the lights all bare fluorescent bulbs. The paint is peeling off of the walls and someone has rigged a bed sheet as a curtain where one of the dressing room doors has gone missing. Gabe makes a mental note to add replacing it to the list. In for a penny, after all.

He’s almost to the door when he sees a familiar silhouette duck into the office ahead of him, coming from the entrance to the club proper. He pauses for a moment, wondering, and then continues on, pushing open the door William’s left half-ajar.

William goes straight to Travis, ducking under his arm when Travis holds it out for him. It’s a practiced move, like the way William turns just slightly to the side to fit himself against Travis’ side. Gabe lounges against the doorway, watching, and tries not to be annoyed by how close they are, and the fact that Travis is now slowly rubbing William’s back.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were fucking. But he knows Travis, which just makes the whole thing even more unfair. Travis doesn’t even like dick, and yet he’s still the one with a six-foot-something exotic dancer hanging off of him.

Travis kisses William’s temple and says, “I’ll take care of it,” which seems to be William’s cue to leave. He freezes when he sees Gabe leaning against the doorframe, surprised. Gabe just raises his eyebrows, and William ducks around him, vanishing down the hallway before Gabe can try a line.

Gabe turns back to Travis, who isn’t paying any attention. “What was that about?” he asks, keeping it light. It’s not Travis’ fault that guys can’t keep their hands off of him, after all.

“Fire marshal,” Travis tells him, grabbing the suit jacket from where it’s slung over his chair and adjusting his tie. “We’re in violation of some code or something. Add it to the fucking list.” He pauses on his way out, checking his reflection in the rectangular mirror pane he has propped up against the wall. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Go check out the club, see how it’s doing. We’ve been holed up in here half the night. Get another lapdance or something.”

“I’m already going through months of inventory sheets and payroll statements,” Gabe jokes, moving aside so Travis can leave. “You don’t have to keep bribing me.”

“Incentive,” Travis tells him, clapping Gabe on the back as he goes. Gabe laughs, and gives one more look towards the haphazard jumble of papers on the table before heading out after him.

There’s a lights show going on onstage, which means the dancers are swapping out. Thanks to this evening’s cram session on learning the club’s operations, Gabe now knows which dancers are where, how long they’re going to stay in rotation, and who’s most likely about to come out onstage. It’s either Butcher or William at this time of night, but since he just saw William backstage fully dressed, odds are Butcher just finished. Gabe doesn’t know whether he’s happy that he knows all of this, or whether it’s just another layer of the magic being stripped away.

Things seem to be going well on the floor. Pete’s serving drinks, giving Gabe a wink on his way past, and Frank’s on top of someone in one of the ‘public’ chairs, head thrown back and hips circling. Gabe’s surprised to realize that he recognized tattoos before he did faces, and wonders where Travis got this many exotic dancers who also grew up punks. It doesn’t seem like something you’d be able to just find on the street.

He’s just looking away to check on whether Ryland’s busy when he sees the guy with Frank reach up and grab his hips, pulling him down closer abruptly enough that Frank drops his rhythm and his foot slips a little on the floor, losing leverage. Gabe doesn’t even really think about it before he moves, although this isn’t his job, not yet. It’s Travis’, or Bob’s, or maybe Brendon although god knows what he’d do in a situation like this, but that doesn’t stop Gabe from getting hold of the guy’s greedy grabbing arm and saying, “Hey, hands off.”

Frank looks just as surprised as the overweight balding guy he’s currently grinding on. “Woah, dude, chill,” he says, sitting back a little to raise a hand in mollification. “It’s cool.”

Gabe pauses, one hand still on the guy’s arm and the other ready to deck him or drag him out if necessary. “I thought the rule was no touching,” he says carefully. The righteous indignation has stalled, leaving him uncertain about whether he’s actually in the right. The bald guy doesn’t look like he’s spoiling for a fight, especially; he mostly looks terrified of Gabe.

“What?” Frank asks, brow wrinkled in confusion. They all hold still, a bizarre tableau, and then Frank’s expression clears and he says, “Oh no, dude, that’s a Bill-rule. He’s got wrists like twigs, guys tend to get a little rougher with him than he can handle when there’s no one else around to keep an eye out.”

Gabe wonders if Travis will forgive him for the lawsuit that might come out of this. He could just add it to the list on his side of the expense sheet now, save them both the surprise later on. He’s still wondering what to say to diplomatically relieve the tension of the situation and make amends when the guy says meekly, “Um. You’re hurting my arm.”

“Sorry.” Gabe pulls his hand away, taking a step back to give the guy more space. Or as much as he can have, anyway, with Frank still in his lap, watching curiously. “Shit, I’m sorry. My mistake.”

“No big deal,” Frank puts in cheerfully, rubbing the bald guy’s shoulders. “I appreciate the thought. I can usually take care of myself, though, so don’t sweat it. Guys give me trouble, I go for the balls. And not in the good way.” He looks down at his patron, rolling his hips once and smiling with just an edge of warning. “Got it?”

The poor guy – some businessman, it looks like, probably here for the first time – squeaks a reply and holds his hands out as far away from Frank as he can possibly get them. Frank rubs his shiny head approvingly.

“Sorry again,” Gabe says, taking another step back. “I’ll just let you get on with it.”

“It’s cool,” Frank promises. He rolls his hips again, almost thoughtfully, getting back into the rhythm of the dance. His eyes rove once over Gabe, considering, and then he says with a sly smile, “William, huh?”

“Gotta go,” Gabe counters. He pulls out his wallet and tosses a twenty at the traumatized guy currently soaking the armpits of his shirt with sweat. “Hey, have a dance. On me.”

“Later,” Frank says cheerfully. Gabe waves one more time and makes his way back to the bar. He needs a drink.

-

“Fancy meeting you here,” Frank says, draping himself over the back of Gabe’s appropriated chair. Gabe’s on his second rum-and-coke, Travis having fucked off to who knows where with the building inspector, so his smile is perhaps a little friendlier than is warranted, but Frank doesn’t look like he minds.

“You weren’t using it anymore,” Gabe points out, stretching his legs out in front of him. He offers his glass to Frank, who says, “Travis will kill me,” but steals a quick sip of it anyway.

“What I’m really dying for is a smoke,” Frank admits, passing the glass back. “I don’t suppose you have one of those hidden somewhere, do you?”

“Jacket pocket,” Gabe informs him regretfully. “Trav’s office.”

“Fuck. Well, I get a break soon anyway.” Frank stretches out a little bit, loosening limbs probably well-warmed from dancing. “Enjoying the show?”

Gabe considers pretending he hasn’t been watching William work the stage for the past fifteen minutes, but that would obviously be a lie, considering where he’s sitting. It’s hard to pay attention to anything else when William is up there. “How’s the guy?” he asks instead. “Is he going to sue?”

Frank snorts. “He got a free lapdance, I don’t think he’ll be complaining anytime soon. Just don’t go all caveman on my customers next time.”

“Will do,” Gabe agrees solemnly. He’s barely drained the rum-and-coke when Pete appears at his elbow, mirroring Frank on his other side like a pair of tattooed bookends.

“Do you want another?” Pete asks. “Give me something to do, otherwise I have to serve that creepy fucker in the back who keeps staring at my stomach.”

“Could be worse,” Frank says philosophically. He doesn’t turn around, but Gabe sees him casually change the angle of his body, getting a better view of the club floor. “Could be that guy from last week who kept trying to stick his tongue in your ear.”

“Gross,” Pete says flatly. He leans against the other side of Gabe’s chair, then straightens up suddenly and says, “Oh shit, you weren’t going to dance, were you? Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Gabe says, as Frank adds, “I’m going on break in five minutes, I’m not risking my nicotine fix by tempting some horny dude into asking for a dance. This is the safe zone.”

“I’m good stripper cover,” Gabe jokes, and then for some reason – probably because he catches sight of William again, bent backwards and writhing – he takes a second to actually think about that and says slowly, “Hey.”

“No,” Frank says immediately. “Cigarette. Besides, you’re a friend of the boss, about to become the new boss. I’m not that stupid.”

“I am,” Pete says immediately, grinning. His teeth glow in the club lights. “What are you thinking?”

What Gabe’s actually thinking is how he felt when he saw William pressed up against Travis in the office, relaxed and comfortable, and the ugly twist of jealousy in his stomach. He thinks maybe a little payback is in order. William’s not the only one who can make a scene.

“Want to take a break from the creepy dude and make a reasonable amount of money with minimal effort?” Gabe suggests guilelessly.

Frank snorts again. Pete says, “You’re on,” and swings himself into Gabe’s lap. He’s wearing leather pants and matching wrist cuffs, creaking a little when he settles. Gabe readjusts in the chair to steady both of them and Pete grins at him.

“I’ll take this,” Frank says, plucking the forgotten glass out of Gabe’s grip, and disappears towards the bar and – undoubtedly – the back alley. Gabe looks up at Pete and raises an eyebrow.

“What are we going for here, show?” Pete asks, rolling his hips a little without actually making more than brushing contact with Gabe’s cock. The leather framing his hips squeaks as he grinds, barely audible beneath the pulse of music coming through the club’s speakers.

“Just enjoy yourself,” Gabe says, folding his arms behind his head and relaxing back into the embrace of the chair. “I’m an easy customer to please.”

“Not what I hear,” Pete comments, leaning back a little to show off his chest. His abs ripple as he moves; Gabe makes a mental note to go to the gym sometime next week.

“No?” Gabe tilts his head back, just enough to watch Pete through hooded eyes and also, incidentally, keep an eye on the stage. William isn’t paying them any attention, but they’re dead center in front of the stage. He has to notice sooner or later.

“You pissed Bill off pretty good last night,” Pete replies, swinging both arms around Gabe’s neck to give himself better leverage. He rolls his hips for a few seconds, still barely making contact, and then asks, “Is he watching?”

“No,” Gabe says immediately. He realizes what he’s said even before he sees the laughter in Pete’s eyes, and can’t think of a retort fast enough to cover.

“Hey,” Pete says, “we’re doing each other a favor. I think the creep’s getting ready to leave.” He leans in close, pretending to nuzzle Gabe’s throat but probably checking out what’s going on in the corner, then adds, “Grab my ass, I don’t care if you touch.”

Gabe does, and has to admit that it’s a pretty fantastic ass. It also helps Pete balance more easily with Gabe supporting him, so he leaves his hands there, idly watching the stage while Pete grinds in his lap. “Creep gone?” he asks, when Pete makes a quiet noise of triumph and does a victory-roll of his hips.

“On the way out,” Pete informs him. He twists around, leaning back against Gabe’s chest, and Gabe relocates his hands to Pete’s abs. They crunch up into rigid definition when Pete gyrates, and seriously, Gabe needs to hit the gym. Or maybe become a stripper, because it seems to be working for Pete.

That reminds Gabe to slide a bill into Pete’s waistband, and he receives a grin thrown over Pete’s shoulder for his efforts. “Thanks,” he says. “I think that’s all you’re going to get, unfortunately.”

He doesn’t mean the dance, Gabe knows, because both of them are keeping an eye on the stage now, and William hasn’t given more than a cursory glance in their direction. He tries not to look crestfallen and probably fails, because Pete twists around again and perches on his lap with sympathetic cheerfulness.

“Trying to make him jealous probably isn’t going to work,” Pete advises, tucking the money Gabe gave him further out of sight and adjusting his leather cuffs. “You have to take a more sideways approach with Bill.”

“Right,” Gabe replies, already speculating on what that approach might entail, and whether having another rum-and-coke might be a good starting place. He notices as he glances over that Ryland is glaring at him from behind the bar, kind of hard. Like, scary-creepy hard. “Dude,” he says with only mild alarm, “What’s going on with Ryland?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Pete assures him, standing up and smoothing his hands over his pants. “Hey, thanks for the tip. You want another drink?”

“No thanks,” Gabe answers, because he’s not all that sure right now that Ryland wouldn’t poison it. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Pete says cheerfully. “I’m back on the clock.” He heads off into the crowd, turning on the charm along with the swing of his hips.

Gabe gives one more baleful look at the stage, where William has the attention of a couple of younger guys and is milking them mercilessly for tips, and heads back to the office. He has work to do.

-

Gabe keeps working for a while after Travis goes to close up the club for the night, but he gives up when things start to get hazy and he can’t remember which piles he’s sorting things into. Being a night owl isn’t something that takes a lot for him to get used to, but six am is six am.

The staff is huddled up around the bar, having once again made the transformation from scantily-clad exotic dancers to bundled-up Chicagoans ready to face the bite of autumn. Frank is holding something up against his face, and Butcher keeps pulling at it, checking underneath. When Frank slaps him away and drops his hand, Gabe sees the first dark bloom of a black eye above Frank’s cheekbone.

“What the fuck happened?” Gabe asks, coming in to join the circle around the bar.

“Someone got a little grabby,” Frank tells him, baring his teeth in what’s not really a grin. “I got a little grabby back.”

“He was a jerk,” William says, lounging against the bar next to Travis. “I don’t blame you.”

“Next time, wait for me,” Bob says grouchily, but he’s the one wrapping up a fresh ice pack to replace the one currently dripping water down Frank’s sleeve. “You don’t need to fucking crowd dive. It’s a strip club, not a mosh pit.”

“He wouldn’t let go of my leg,” Frank defends, sticking his chin out.

“This is why we don’t put you on at the end of the night when they’re all drunk,” Travis says, cuffing the back of Frank’s head affectionately.

Frank shrugs, half-apologetic and half-fatalistic. “We were short.”

“Sorry,” William and Pete say simultaneously, then glance at each other.

“Oh, by all means,” Travis says with a smirk. “You two need to stop getting guys to order private dances at twenty a pop, it’s dragging this place down.”

“We’re going to be shorter next week,” Butcher points out.

This time it’s only William who says, “Sorry.” Travis reaches out to tug him in by the back of his neck, kneading the muscles there when William ducks his head forward.

“I could…” Brendon begins, with a hopeful light in his eyes.

“No,” Travis says. “Then we’d be short on the bar, too. We’ll work it out.” He jabs a finger at Frank, waggling it for a brief moment before returning to his slow massage of William’s neck. “Frankie, take care of that.”

“I’ve got two days off,” Frank points out, pulling the ice away to blink experimentally. “It should be mostly healed by then.”

“You can use my makeup,” Pete offers. Frank makes a face but doesn’t disagree, just holds the ice back to his eye. Bob fusses with it until Frank stops fidgeting and lets him swap out for the new pack.

“This happen often?” Gabe asks Pete, who’s loitering nearest to him, hands stuffed into the pockets of his tiny pants. Pete really is a short dude.

“Only to Frank,” Pete answers, cocking his head. “The rest of us just throw tantrums until Bob comes. We’ve learned.”

“It’s a good thing you make this place so much money,” Travis declares, giving Frank another friendly cuff.

“Fuck off, you love me,” Frank replies, tugging his hat lower over his eyes. “I’m heading home. See you losers next week.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Travis drawls. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, but I think some people might need their beauty sleep.” He lifts one shoulder to gently nudge William, who’s half-turned to rest against Travis’ chest and is breathing slowly and evenly, eyes closed.

“Mmm,” William replies, not moving.

Gabe doesn’t notice Pete moving, but there’s suddenly a quiet voice closer to his ear than he’d realized, murmuring, “Just for the record, the jealous thing doesn’t work well on him from the other side, either.”

Gabe tears his gaze away from William and Travis, raising both eyebrows. “Who said anything about jealous?”

Pete smirks, an expression that suggests he knows more about Gabe and his motives than Gabe would really prefer. “No one. His last boyfriend got a little crazy on him towards the end, though. Just an FYI.”

“Sounds like a jerk,” Gabe says casually. He’s not fishing, not really. If Pete volunteers information, that’s just a bonus.

“Nah, he was a good guy,” Pete says. “He just got sick of random dudes in a club seeing more of Bill than he did. I don’t blame him.”

Gabe watches Travis peel William off of him and send him sleepwalking in the direction of the dressing rooms. “I guess the relationship thing kind of sucks for you guys, doesn’t it?”

“Not for all of us,” Pete says with a grin. “Anyway, I’m out. See you around.”

Gabe says an absent goodnight, and once again ends up surprised when he turns around to find Ryland towering over him – and not many guys can do that – with a glare.

“Do we have a problem?” Ryland asks, relatively calmly for the force of the glower he’s got going on.

Gabe blinks a few times, and tries to figure out what parallel dimension he’s stepped into. “No?” he tries.

“Good,” Ryland says, and slaps him on the back just a little too hard to be considered friendly. “Glad to hear it. Have a good night.”

Gabe watches him go with supreme confusion, and then turns to Travis, who’s watching him and chuckling. “What the fuck?”

Travis shrugs. “He and Pete have got kind of a thing going. They won’t call it dating, but they end up in the same place every night and they don’t fuck anyone else, so I don’t know what else they’d call it.” He grins at Gabe and says, “Most of the staff caught your little show tonight.”

“Well fuck,” Gabe says in surprise. “Pete didn’t tell him it was because of the creeper in the corner?”

“Pete gets off on the jealous act,” Travis tells him. “He’ll probably tell him tonight. After round two. You’re having the guys give you dances to save them from actual paying customers? I’m starting to reconsider how good you’ll be for my business.”

“He was a creep,” Gabe says absently. “You should really keep them out.”

“They don’t come with stamps on their foreheads,” Travis says. “And even if they did, I can’t keep them out. Just keep an eye on them.”

“When I’m a partner,” Gabe announces, “the creeps will have stamps.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” Travis replies, shaking his head and smiling. “Calling you was the worst business decision I ever made.”

“The best,” Gabe corrects. “You just wait and see.”

-

Monday night, Gabe walks into the club and is momentarily confounded. “Holy shit,” he says out loud, staring down at the stage and out across the floor.

Bob nods him in from his post by the door. “Ladies’ night,” he offers by way of explanation, which Gabe had already figured out, because _holy shit._

He’s been to strip clubs before, dozens of them, but he doesn’t remember the girls ever looking like this. There are tattoos everywhere, bright colors splashed onto pale skin, and these girls don’t look like particularly delicate flowers. They’re all uniformly slender, but Gabe can still see the ripple of muscles when they move, strength hidden in slim legs and arms. It’s fucking _hot._

He finds Travis by the bar, drinking what looks like coke. “I’d forgotten what half-naked women look like,” Gabe jokes, sliding onto a stool beside him. “I think I’m in heaven.”

“Man, I told you I’d get you in on a ladies’ night,” Travis replies, grinning lopsidedly. “Welcome to Mondays.”

“This is amazing,” Gabe says honestly. “Are you drinking coke? I want one too, diet. Where the fuck did you find these chicks?”

“Music scene, mostly,” Travis says contemplatively, stroking the stubble starting to grow in on his chin. “Concerts and clubs. You’d be surprised. Word gets around, too, they tend to find me first.”

“That’s fucking amazing,” Gabe says. “Ryland, hey, diet coke? Don’t you ever get the night off?”

“Never,” Ryland tells him solemnly. “I practically live here. You should do something about that.”

“I’m giving you full-time benefits,” Travis reminds him, tapping the bar. To Gabe he says, “Hey, do you mind if we hang out in here tonight? I try to stay in the club and help Bob out when the girls are working. I almost called to tell you to come in early, but I figured you wouldn’t want to miss this.”

“Too right,” Gabe says. “It’s cool. We’re nearing the end anyway, I think.”

Travis’ grin broadens slowly. “That mean you’ve decided?” he asks. Ryland sets Gabe’s glass of coke down on the bar and leans in to listen. Gabe glances between them, feigning indecision, but in the end he just grins and throws his hands up.

“Fuck it,” he says. “Tell me where to sign.”

Travis whoops, leaning back on his elbows against the bar. “Man, and here I was thinking I’d have to coerce you with free dances from the girls until you gave in and agreed.”

“You still can,” Gabe says immediately. “Did I say I’d decided? I meant I might need further persuasion.”

“Too late,” Travis says. “I’m drawing up the papers, you’re going to be legally bound before the end of the week.”

“You should meet the rest of the staff,” Ryland puts in. “I think you’ve met everyone but Lyn and Maja. Lyn’s on the floor now, I’ll send her over when she comes back with drink orders. Maja’s onstage.”

Gabe twists around to check out the blonde working the crowd onstage. Comparatively speaking, she’s not wearing that little; a short skirt with black bikini-cut panties underneath, a white t-shirt with the sleeves and collar ripped off over a black lace bra. The way she’s moving, though, the high kicks and the manic undulations are far more enticing than a topless chick playing coy schoolgirl.

“You have to be sitting on a goldmine,” Gabe tells Travis, without taking his eyes off the stage. “Why don’t you have them working every night?”

“Have you seen the boys?” Travis reminds him. “Besides, they’re all employed elsewhere, I can only get them two nights a week. Lyn’s an art adjunct, and Maja’s band plays local gigs the rest of the week.”

“Art adjunct,” Gabe echoes. “What the fuck?”

Onstage, Maja skids onto her knees and starts humping the air, hips circling and legs spread wide. Gabe stares until a familiar soft voice says, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Gabe turns his attention to the girl standing beside him, done up like he’s never seen her before in high heels, a criminally short skirt and a purple brassiere. “Victoria,” he purrs, turning up the charm. “Next to you, none of them even compare.”

“Save it,” she says, but there’s the smallest smile at the edges of her mouth. “Ryland, I need two bourbon-and-cokes.”

“Coming right up,” Ryland says, over top of Gabe’s, “Who the fuck drinks bourbon and coke?”

“Those guys,” Victoria answers, sliding her drink tray over to Ryland. “And me. Although I drink it straight.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” Gabe croons. “Hey, Victoria, Travis was just telling me about how he’s going to buy me dances with all of the beautiful women in here. Want to be the first?”

Victoria crooks a perfectly-plucked eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “I heard a rumor you were working your way through the staff,” she comments. “You’ll have to make it higher up on the list before you get to me, though.”

“Ouch,” Gabe says, clutching at his chest dramatically and grinning. “What about coming home with me? You’re first on the list, one and only.”

Victoria leans in across the bar, her breasts pressing against his arm. “In your dreams,” she murmurs, looking up at him through her lashes, and then slides back with drink tray in hand and pushes off the bar. Gabe watches her progress across the room towards the bourbon-and-coke guys with his eyes fixed firmly on her ass.

“Man, stop harassing my staff,” Travis tells him, nudging Gabe with his elbow. “I don’t pay them enough to put up with your shit.”

“She likes me, I can tell.” Gabe pulls his gaze away just in time to see William standing at the other side of the bar, watching him curiously.

“Billy,” Travis says, before Gabe can think of anything clever to say. “What are you doing in here? I’m not supposed to see your pretty face in my club for another week.”

“I forgot my check last night,” William says, shrugging one lanky shoulder and turning his attention completely away from Gabe. Gabe smothers the urge to do something dramatic like knock over his soda glass to get it back. “And I’m getting tired of Ramen, so.”

“That’s what you get,” Travis says, straight-faced, and William rolls his eyes. “It’s in my office, hang on. I’ll get it.” He glances out at the floor as he says it, sweeping over the floor and the crowd around the stage.

“I know where you keep them,” William volunteers. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll help,” Gabe offers brightly, finishing his drink and standing up from the bar. When Travis and William turn nearly-identical skeptical looks on him, he adds, “In case you can’t find it.”

“Right,” William says warily. Travis just coughs into his hand and pretends not to notice.

Gabe walks behind William on the way to the office, which is an entertaining endeavor because William seems to know exactly what he’s doing, but the lazy swing is gone from his hips, and he keeps glancing back over his shoulder when they turn corners. Gabe just grins innocently and goes back to watching his ass as soon as William looks away again.

“On that shelf in the corner,” Gabe says as they walk into Travis’ office. He shuts the door with a quiet click and watches the tense line of William’s shoulders jump a fraction.

“Are you sure?” William asks, turning to the shelf in question. “He usually keeps them in his desk.”

“My bad,” Gabe says easily, leaning in to open the desk drawer and trapping William against the corner of it in the process. “Here it is.”

“Thanks,” William says, although there’s more suspicion in it than gratitude, his eyes narrowed and watchful. Gabe doesn’t move away, just holds the envelope up between them, and doesn’t let go when William’s fingers close on it and give the first expectant tug.

“So,” Gabe says casually, leaning in just a fraction to force William up tight against the desk. “I was wondering if you give private dances on the weekends.”

William’s expression shifts back and forth between annoyed and disbelieving. “It’s Monday.”

“I wanted to get in an advance reservation,” Gabe says, smiling wider. “Just in case you booked early.”

William rolls his eyes again and gives the envelope another tug. Gabe refuses to relinquish it, and wonders how far he’d have to lean in for William to actually be forced onto the desk. Sex on a desk could be hot. Then again, Travis would probably kill him for it.

“I don’t work on Mondays,” William tells him, straightening up just enough that Gabe is actually the one forced back. Gabe rolls with it; sex up against the wall is just as hot. “Ask when I’m on the clock.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” Gabe says, taking a step backward, inviting William to follow.

William doesn’t. William gives the envelope Gabe’s forgotten about a quick yank, folds it up to stick into his back pocket, and says, “Right.”

He disappears before Gabe has a chance to try again, leaving the office door open behind him. He’s out of sight by the time Gabe walks out, and not in the club when Gabe heads back to the bar.

Travis takes one look at him and snorts. “Don’t make me give them a raise,” he warns. “You’ll be the one paying for it.”

Victoria’s beside him, one hand on her drink tray and a coy little smile on her beautiful lips. “One and only, huh?” she says, and saunters off with enough swing in her step to make Gabe wince.

“Fuck off,” he tells Travis pleasantly. “I’ve got it all under control.”

“Sure you do,” Travis agrees neutrally.

Gabe decides to let it drop.

-

“I think we’re done here,” Travis says on Tuesday. “All that’s left is to get you all official and shit.”

“Show me the dotted line,” Gabe says. He’s still nervous, a little, but the anxiety has faded into a more pleasant buzz of anticipation. He’s going to own a motherfucking strip club.

“You need to look through the contract,” Travis says, pulling a heavy manila envelope out of his desk. “Have someone explain the legal jargon so you know what you’re agreeing to. I have someone attached to the staff, if you want, or you can see someone independently.”

“Shit, I trust you,” Gabe says, but he takes the envelope anyway, weighing it in one hand. “On staff, really? I don’t remember seeing that on the payroll.”

“It’s more of an unofficial position,” Travis explains. “He goes through the legal shit, I throw a couple extra hundred in his bank account. It works out.”

“Cool,” Gabe allows. “Who…?”

“Trav,” Ryland interrupts, sticking his head in the door after a perfunctory knock. “Butcher just called. He’s not just running late, he’s also running a fever and can’t keep down chicken soup.”

“Shit,” Travis says, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Tell him not to come in; I want him better by the weekend.”

Ryland gives a funny little cough and doesn’t move from the doorway. “Brendon’s volunteered to step in,” he offers mildly, examining his fingernails.

Travis snorts, shaking his head. “Of course he has.”

Gabe hasn’t seen a lot of Brendon, but what he has seen hasn’t been so bad. “He’s hot,” he comments, for whatever it’s worth. “He’s got a great ass.”

“You haven’t seen him dance,” Travis replies ominously. He sits still for a moment, then picks up his phone and sighs. “Shit. I’ll call Bill.”

“He might not kill you if you bribe him enough,” Ryland suggests, watching. “He’ll just make you feel guilty for the next month.”

“Try the next three,” Travis says. He listens while the phone apparently goes to voicemail, hangs up and dials again.

“Not there?” Ryland inquires.

“Oh, he’s there, he’s just expressing his piss-off-edness with me for calling him on a night off.” He looks up at Ryland and Gabe with the expression of a reluctant soldier heading into battle. “You can go on, this might take a while.”

Gabe makes himself at home by the bar, chatting with Ryland while he makes drinks. “At least it’s Tuesday,” Ryland observes. “Slow night. Thank heaven for small blessings and all that.”

“You guys get squeezed like this a lot?” Gabe asks, rolling his empty glass between his hands.

“Only in the winter. We really need one more person, just to handle these days, but then Travis couldn’t offer them full-time.” Ryland looks up at the stage, where Pete is shimmying his way up the silver pole, and shakes his head. “He’d better get…oh, speak of the devil.”

William rushes in past them, shedding scarf and jacket as he goes. “Do I have time to warm up?” he asks Ryland on the way towards the dressing rooms. “How long has Pete been on?”

“Forty-five minutes,” Ryland tells him promptly.

“Fuck,” William replies, and disappears through the staff doors.

Travis comes out a minute later, shaking his head. “If they don’t find my body,” he tells them mournfully, “I’m trusting you guys to keep this place open.”

Ryland pours him a glass of whiskey and pushes it across the bar. Travis salutes him with it and downs a good half of the liquid in one swig.

“That bad?” Gabe asks, only half-joking. “What, was he catching up on beauty sleep or something? Hot date?”

Travis shakes his head. “Nah, man, he’s got midterms.”

Gabe stares at Travis, then at the stage in disbelief. “Why the fuck is he going to school?”

Travis just chuckles. Pete works his way offstage, apparently having received the signal to swap out, and finds them immediately after, sweat still streaking his skin. “Bill says to tell Jack he’s doing Checkmarks.”

“Well, fuck,” Travis drawls. He stands up, presumably to go find whoever Jack is, and then glances sideways at Gabe. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“What?” Gabe asks. Travis is already on his way off, though, so he turns the question on Ryland, who’s giving Pete a glass of water. “What?”

That’s when the lights in the club go out.

For a second Gabe can’t see anything, and then the blue lights come up, illuminating a familiar silhouette. A second later the spotlight clicks on, the music starts, and Gabe just stares.

William’s wearing a cowboy hat, an actual fucking cowboy hat, pulled low over his eyes; a tight-fitting flannel shirt, his trademark shredded jeans, and fucking cowboy boots. He looks like he just walked out of a western-themed porno, and then his hips swing lazily from one side to the other, showing the first taut stretch of denim over his skin, and Gabe wonders if maybe instead he’s wandered _into_ one.

He’s walked further onto the floor without realizing it, but that turns out to be convenient, because William twists around and bends in half, the buttons on his shirt popping free all in a row to leave the material hanging loose, framing his chest, and Gabe thinks Travis might have been right about him needing to sit down.

The music isn’t coy at all; it’s almost violent, manic, and William twists with it, caught up in the beat and the energy of the chords, shaking his hair out of his eyes and dripping sweat onto the stage. Gabe drops into an empty chair and tries not to care that he has a fucking boner in the middle of a strip club, because it’s not his fault when William is doing… _that._

The shirt comes off entirely a second later, and the first button of his fly pops open in what has to be the biggest tease Gabe has ever seen, barely enough to show the first hint of a treasure trail. He leaves it there, doesn’t undo the rest of the buttons and keeps grinding, thrashing around on stage and earning a cacophony of catcalls from the edge of the stage, where guys are pressed eagerly against the barrier, watching.

The second button comes undone. Gabe can’t see any sign of underwear. He wonders if William’s wearing any, or if guy strippers wear thongs. He should ask Travis, Travis would know. Gabe could tell him it’s a research question about how much they’d be spending on costumes. Then he wonders why the fuck he’s thinking about this now, because William has both thumbs hooked into his belt loops and is pulling. Down.

Gabe has his eyes glued to that stretch of skin, the tantalizing tease of below-the-navel, so it takes him a moment to realize that it’s getting closer. William drops to his knees on the edge of the stage, immediately groped by a dozen greedy hands, and then he slithers down off the edge and onto the floor.

Possibly someone should call Bob before William gets mauled, Gabe thinks, and then he stops thinking, because William has tipped his head back far enough to catch Gabe’s eyes beneath the hat, and a second later he’s sauntered his way over and is actually climbing into Gabe’s lap.

Gabe’s hands twitch, desperately wanting to touch, but he keeps them to himself and lets William do his thing, the spotlight on both of them now, washing William’s skin porcelain white. William tips the hat back, straddling Gabe with more grace than Gabe would have previously thought possible in this situation, and his hips move in a long, slow, lazy roll.

It’s not a lapdance, not exactly, because William is still performing. This isn’t a show for Gabe, it’s a show for the whole fucking club, and Gabe just happens to be a part of it. There’s less direct contact and more art, more strategic angling when William stretches his legs out straight and bends over to lick Gabe’s ear.

Gabe’s mouth is dry. William grinds against him, enough that there’s no hiding how much he’s enjoying this, and then he tangles both hands in Gabe’s hair and pulls his head back. Gabe stares up at him, bathed in light with his own head thrown back, still moving to the pulse of the music, and gasps, “Jesus Christ I want to fuck you.”

William smiles faintly, just the corners of his lips turning up. Then he leans in and bites Gabe’s lip - _bites his lip_ \- and all of the blood in Gabe’s body goes rushing southward. His knees feel liquefied, and it’s a good thing he’s sitting down, because William is riding him like he really is a cowboy and Gabe’s the fucking mechanical bull.

Things get a little fuzzy after that, or maybe it’s just light-headedness from the lack of oxygen and blood making it to his brain, but he’s aware of William pulling away eventually, working his way back to the stage, pulling himself up over the edge and sliding into the most legally obscene pose Gabe has ever seen before the lights go out again.

When they come back up, William is gone, the crowd is in a fucking tizzy, and Gabe’s so hard he’s seeing stars. He walks with stiff legs to the bathroom, jerks off into a stall, and comes back to the bar still feeling dizzy.

Ryland passes him a shot of something Gabe doesn’t even taste, just downs in one gulp. Travis just claps him on the back and says sympathetically, “I warned you.”

Gabe pushes the glass back towards Ryland and says, “Another.”

Ryland pours without questioning, hands him the shot and says, “Believe me. I know the feeling.”

-

Gabe’s getting used to the end-of-the-night ritual of hanging around at the bar after the club closes, joining in the chorus as everyone says goodnight. It’s starting to feel like home. He never expected to say that about a strip club in the middle of Chicago.

He’s still a little warm under his skin, a little buzzed off the shots Ryland kept in steady supply and the memory of William’s teeth sinking into his lip. It’s not like he has a thing for strippers. Chick strippers, maybe, but not guy strippers, who in his head are still beefy hunks of manflesh wearing Speedos. This totally isn’t his scene.

Then again, he’s seen what William can do with a metal pole, and there’s no way he isn’t going to tap that.

“Yo, where’s your boytoy?” Gabe asks Ryland, leaning over to tap his fingernail against the bar.

“Taking his sweet time in the shower,” Ryland answers, polishing the last of the glasses and hanging it up on the rack over the bar. “Probably using that hideous pomegranate body wash.”

Travis comes out with a familiar envelope in his hand, dumping it onto the bar in front of Gabe with a smack-crinkle of paper. “Don’t forget this,” he warns. “I had to do a lot of wheedling to get you the talk-through.”

“When are we doing this, now?” Gabe asks, turning the envelope over. “And who is it I’m meeting with?”

“Not now,” someone else says, and Gabe turns at the same time Travis does to see William walking out of the staff area to join them, winter scarf already wrapped around his neck. “I’m functioning solely on caffeine pills right now, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“You?” Gabe asks, and he doesn’t exactly mean for it to sound so incredulous, but come on. Seriously?

William gives him a weird look, sideways and measuring. “I’m taking the bar next summer,” he says. “Travis explained this wasn’t a professional legal consultation, right? I’m just talking you through it.”

“What the fuck are you doing in law school?” Gabe asks, and okay, admittedly, that wasn’t the most tactful thing he could have said right now. He should maybe consider keeping his mouth shut for the time being.

“Better question; ask him why he’s an English lit _minor_ rather than a major,” Pete chimes in, damp from the shower and wearing fresh eyeliner, along with about fifteen layers of clothing in varying shades of black. “It’s a waste.”

“I want to be able to eat,” William answers, like they’ve had this conversation before. “It’s pretty straightforward.”

“You’re selling out to the bloodsucking leeches of our society,” Pete informs him, crossing behind the bar to duck casually under Ryland’s arm. “Two poetry classes and nothing else is practically a crime.” He stretches up to peck Ryland casually on the cheek and says, “Hey, you.”

“You smell like the fruit of the underworld,” Ryland informs him, but he squeezes Pete a little closer as he says it, and Pete’s grin is blinding in response. “Right, we’re heading out. Goodnight, all.”

Travis has his fingers in William’s hair when Gabe glances back, rubbing his temples with gentle fingers. “You taking the train?” he asks. “I can walk you over on my way.”

“No, someone’s picking me up,” William answers tiredly, eyes falling gradually shut. “I have two more hours of cramming before the exam, we’re going to hit the diner for an early breakfast.”

It’s not that Gabe’s jealous, because he’s not. It’s just that he doesn’t get how William can be grinding in his lap and pulling the shy flower routine the next, not to mention snuggling up to Travis. That’s a fuck-ton of mixed signals right there.

“You need me in again on Thursday?” William asks, visibly forcing his eyes open again to crane his head back and look at Travis.

Travis looks apologetic, but he says, “Even if Butcher’s back, he won’t be in top shape. And you know if Butcher’s out, Frank is next.”

“I am not,” Frank says from the end of the bar, sneakered feet propped up on the stool beneath him like a kid at a soda fountain. “I refuse to get sick.”

“Every year,” Travis tells Gabe, who isn’t watching the way William sighs when Travis goes back to rubbing his temples at all. “Someone gets sick, and the next day or two it’s Frankie’s turn. It’s like clockwork.”

“Fucker,” Frank grumbles, but he doesn’t deny it. He hops down from his stool and says, “I’m beat. See you guys Thursday.”

“Vitamin C,” Travis calls after him. Frank sticks one finger out behind him on his way out the door.

“Lit minor, huh?” Gabe muses. “So hey, would I get a better response if I tried to stick _War and Peace_ down your pants instead of bills?”

William pushes his hair behind his ear, straightening up, but he just says, “Probably.”

“Knock knock,” someone calls, and they all turn to see a lanky California bleach-blond with a scruffy beard making his way across the floor from the direction of the back alley. “The tall Nordic guy let me in. How’s it shaking?”

“What’s up, Andrew?” Travis asks, letting go of William so he can shrug into his coat. “Midterms kicking your ass yet?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Andrew answers, bumping fists with Travis in a way that’s practiced but casual. “We’ll see how this next one goes. I hear you’re hitting flu season.”

“It’s a bitch,” Travis agrees. “Hey, you ever think about stripping?”

“Only for my girlfriend,” Andrew answers honestly, scratching his head. “And I don’t think she appreciates it all that much. I’ll keep it in mind once I fail the bar, though.”

“You’re not failing,” William says, stepping away from the bar. “No one is failing. Come on, I need pancakes. And coffee.”

“You’re not going to sleep for a week,” Andrew comments, but he raises a hand in farewell to the rest of them, following William’s lead. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Hey, wait,” Gabe says quickly as they near the door. “You need my number?”

“Travis has it,” William calls back, and the door swings shut before Gabe can say anything else.

“Law school,” Gabe says a beat later, staring after them. “Holy shit.”

Travis chuckles. He sobers up a second later, and says seriously, “You’re cool with this, right? Because once he’s out of school, he’s probably going in with us on the club’s new location, so I need you to get over that huge-ass crush and stop harassing my potential business partner.”

“It’s cool,” Gabe swears, raising both hands.

“Good,” Travis says. “Because I already had to call the cops on the last dude who went batshit insane on him in here, so he’s a little skittish around aggressive dudes, you get me?”

“Totally,” Gabe promises, although he hasn’t even done anything, so he doesn’t know why Travis is reading him the riot act.

He’s tired, suddenly, and Travis seems to see it, because the overprotective routine vanishes instantly. “Aww, hey,” he says, clapping Gabe on the shoulder. “It’s late, man. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

-

“Are you feeling all right?” Victoria asks, somewhere in the middle of Lyn’s naughty schoolgirl routine onstage.

Gabe turns his attention her way and flashes an easy smile. “Absolutely. Why do you ask?”

Victoria leans back against the bar, resting on her elbows. “You’ve been here for five hours and you haven’t hit on me once,” she points out, eyebrow cocked. “I was getting concerned.”

“Ha ha,” Gabe jokes, and then realizes that Maja just walked past for the seventh or eighth time in her leather dominatrix outfit, and he has yet to make a comment on it. Then again, he reasons, it is Maja, and he values his balls.

There’s no other reason, obviously. None at all.

“Phone,” Ryland says, and Gabe frowns when he sees the receiver being held out in his direction.

“What the fuck?” he asks, and then into the phone, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s William,” the voice on the other end announces. “Are you free to meet?”

Gabe lounges back on his stool, ignoring Victoria’s expectant look. “I thought you were going to get my number from Travis,” he says lightly.

“I did,” William says. “But if I’d called, you would have had mine.”

“Ouch,” Gabe says, impressed. “Yeah, I’m free. Where do you want to meet up?”

“Where are you staying?” William asks. “Can we make it somewhere near there? I don’t want to come all the way downtown unless I have to.”

“I’m at the club now,” Gabe says helpfully, and then nearly turns around to bang his head against the bar, because seriously, what the fuck.

“I know,” William says slowly. “I called you there.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe sees Ryland make a ‘smooth move’ signal with his margarita shaker.

“Right,” Gabe says quickly. “So hey, how about your place? Where are you? I’ll just come to you, it’ll be less hassle.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, which he guesses is William deciding whether or not Gabe is a possible candidate for creepy stalker, and then a drawn-out, “O-kay.”

William gives him the address, which Gabe scribbles down onto a bar napkin after a few frantic hand signals to Ryland, and he hangs up a few seconds later, satisfied. “Home address?” Ryland asks with patently false indifference.

“You know it,” Gabe replies, flashing him a grin. “See you tomorrow, sucker.”

“You should stick around,” Ryland advises. “Lyn and Maja are playing good cop, bad cop.”

That gives Gabe pause, but only for half a second. “Maybe next time,” he says. “I have a date.”

Ryland says something in response, but it gets lost in the noise as Gabe heads out. Flagging down a cab is easy, and it’s not actually all that long a ride to the grad student apartments William had named. Gabe tips the driver and finds his way to what must be apartment 108, because even though it’s missing the last digit, there’s a sparkly sign proclaiming, ‘Bill & Sisky’ on the door.

He knocks, and the clever comment ready and waiting on his tongue dies away as William opens the door. “You don’t wear glasses,” isn’t exactly the charming opener he’d been planning, but it’s what comes out anyway.

William gives him a funny look, opening the door wider for him to come in, and says, “No, I wear contacts.”

“So what, these are your sexy law student glasses?” Gabe asks. He’s only half-joking. William-the-stripper is gone, and in his place there’s this…hot guy. Wearing glasses.

William smiles a little, faintly. “Something like that,” he agrees. He waves Gabe in and locks the door behind him. “Can I get you something? Sorry about the mess, it’s midterms. And my roommate is kind of a slob.”

“I’m good,” Gabe says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking around. “It’s not what I expected. Smaller.”

“No orgies on the futon?” William asks, with a sarcastic drawl that makes Gabe grin lazily at him in return.

“My illusions about the decadent lives of exotic dancers are shattered,” he says. “I take it back, do you have any diet coke?”

William gets him a glass, tinkling with fresh ice, and they sit down to work. At first Gabe is too conscious of William’s proximity, the scent of his shampoo and the way he keeps pushing his hair back out of his eyes as it falls perpetually forward, but then they start really getting into the legal shit, clauses and fine print and lawyer-speak gobbledegook, and Gabe doesn’t have any attention to spare.

They go through it once completely, and then William insists on going back through the major points, one-by-one, highlighting things Gabe has questions about. “Wait, shit, can you do that to a legal document?” Gabe asks when William adds the first vivid streak of yellow, but William just gives him an amused look that’s somehow evaluating at the same time, says, “It’s erasable,” and wipes the color off again.

“Fucking amazing,” Gabe says fervently, and makes William laugh when he insists on doing the rest of the highlighting so he can erase it after they talk through everything.

Finally William sits back and says, “I think you’ve got it,” and Gabe says, “Hand me a pen,” and that’s it, he’s the co-owner of a business. He just stares at it for a minute, and then says, “Fucking amazing,” again, because it is. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” William says, and he looks softer somehow, different than Gabe’s seen him before, and it’s not just the glasses and the button-down, although that’s probably part of it. They look at each other for a minute, and then William’s smile creeps out a little wider and he says, “That’s it? No comments about how it really could be my pleasure?”

“Honestly, I want to,” Gabe tells him. “But you’ve got this whole hot geek thing going on right now, so I’m a little off-balance.”

William laughs, an actual, surprised laugh, and Gabe grins at him like a loon. “Are you hungry?” he asks impulsively. “I’m hungry. Let’s get pizza. We should celebrate.”

William looks confused, but he stands up when Gabe reaches for his coat. “It’s five in the morning,” he points out.

Gabe just grins at him. “What, you’ve never had pizza for breakfast? What kind of a college student are you?”

William lets himself be bullied out the door in search of sustenance, although he does leave Gabe waiting outside in the frigid early-morning air while he runs back inside for a scarf.

Gabe watches with amusement as he ties the scarf in a fancy knot, tucking the ends down into his jacket. “English minor, huh?” he says innocuously, throwing his hands up and playing innocent when William eyes him sideways.

They walk to the pizza place because it’s only a few blocks, but when William stops expectantly outside the door, Gabe shakes his head. “Oh no,” he says. “We’re not having it Chicago style. We’re having real pizza.”

William narrows his eyes slightly. “Chicago style pizza is the only pizza,” he challenges, which is more than Gabe’s honor can take.

“New York,” he says, hooking William’s elbow and pulling him along down the sidewalk. “Dripping with cheese and grease and so floppy you have to fold it up and eat it with two hands. Where the tomato sauce is in its proper place, between crust and toppings.” He hails a cab, because William needs to be exposed to high-class cuisine, and the best place in Chicago is a good fifteen blocks away.

“You’re kidnapping me for pizza?” William questions as Gabe shoos him into the cab.

“New York pizza,” Gabe clarifies. “You Chicago heathen. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back by sunrise.”

Gabe's favorite pizzeria in Chicago is a hole-in-the-wall that he and Travis discovered once through sheer dumb luck, drunk off their asses at four in the morning. He tells William the story, embroidering some of the details, on the ride over, and then orders a giant homemade vegan pie for them to share, chatting with the kid behind the counter. His parents own the store; Gabe’s met the entire family.

They drink an entire pot of bitter black coffee while they wait for the pizza, until Gabe’s wired and William’s actually shaking, eyes bright. His phone goes off as the sky is just starting to lighten, and he glances at Gabe apologetically before he flips it open to read the message. “Andrew,” he says, typing something in return. “We had another study session today.”

“Yo, bring him along,” Gabe invites. When William looks up at him, uncertain, he adds, “We can move over to Starbucks or something, you guys can do your thing. It’s almost six anyway, I could call Trav and those guys, too.”

William hesitates for another second, visibly torn, and then pushes a few more keys. “Okay,” he says, and Gabe grins, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial.

Travis shows up with half the staff in tow fifteen minutes later, by some amazing coincidence at the exact time William’s friend Andrew comes down the sidewalk from the opposite side and ends up holding the door open for Victoria.

Their first pizza comes out of the oven a few minutes later, and by then they’re ready to order at least three more. Pete and Ryland crowd into the booth next to Gabe, Pete’s face for once free of makeup, wearing a worn hoodie and track pants. Travis slides in next to William, arm going around him automatically to make more room for Victoria to squeeze in while Andrew grabs a chair, and Gabe doesn’t even mind.

Brendon rushes in a few minutes later, apologizing for getting totally lost, and they add another chair to the end of the table, everyone cramming in until there’s barely enough elbow-room to lift the slices of pizza dripping grease onto the checkered tablecloth.

Travis tells the story of how he and Gabe first found this place all over again, this time with less embroidery over Gabe’s protests of, “That’s not how it happened!” when it actually really was. William eyes him sideways, a little smile on his lips, and when Travis gets to the part about the tranny hooker – and how was Gabe supposed to know, really? – Gabe buries his head in his arms on the table and groans.

“Swear to god,” Travis finishes, over Gabe’s protests of, “I didn’t know!” and Pete laughs so hard he knocks over Ryland’s soda glass and they all scramble madly to mop it up with napkins before they end up with wet laps.

“What Travis is leaving out…” Gabe begins loudly, and Travis tries to shut him up, but if Travis gets to tell the part about the tranny hooker, Gabe gets to tell the part about Travis trying to sweet-talk the policewoman on 38th with a face like a lemon.

“No, you guys don’t even get it,” Gabe insists, over the chorus of catcalls from around the table. “He was like, ‘no really, ma’am, is there anything I can _do_ for _you_?’” He leers outrageously, leaning in across the table, and Travis hits him in the cheek with a spitball made from their discarded straw wrappers.

A brief but intense spitball battle later, they have even more food, some of which they can barely fit on the table, and another two pots of coffee for the night owls starting to fade as the sun rises higher in the sky. Gabe and Andrew commandeer the jukebox, and after a rousing selection of the greatest pop-synth hits of the ‘80s, they take over the aisle next to their table to perform ‘Bye Bye Bye’ with all of the original choreography.

“Man, I didn’t even need to tell the story about the hooker,” Travis drawls, leaning back against the corner of the booth. “You just embarrassed yourself worse than I could even imagine. Scoot over, I have to piss.”

They trade places, so after Andrew claims a corner of the booth, William ends up pressed tight against Gabe’s side. He’s mostly a warm weight that Gabe only remains half-conscious of, until he glances over to ask if William wants more coffee and sees that he’s fallen asleep on Gabe’s shoulder, hair falling haphazardly across his eyes.

It’s creeping towards 8 AM when Ryland finally says he has to go get some sleep before the next night shift, and everyone reluctantly works their way out of the booth to divvy up the bill and head home.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Gabe murmurs, rolling his shoulder a little. “Rise and shine.”

William wakes up slowly, wrinkling his nose in protest, and finally blinks his eyes open reluctantly. He straightens up when he sees Gabe, scrubbing his hands over his face blearily. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Gabe assures him, sliding out of the booth after William to join the rest of the group. Andrew is the only one of them still even remotely wide-awake, sliding his sunglasses on and waiting for William by the door.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” Travis says, slinging an arm around Gabe as they walk out, blinking blearily, into the grey Chicago morning.

“Just like,” Gabe agrees, tugging his baseball cap down over his eyes to block the sun. “Man, feels like coming home.”

-

“Check me out,” Gabe announces when he walks into the club that evening. “I’m Travis motherfucking McCoy.”

He does a little spin on the landing, showing off the new suit jacket, and bows graciously to accept the wolf-whistles. “Man, I said you could buy in on my club,” Travis says from where he’s leaning against the stage, watching the staff set out chairs and the dancers warm up on the floor. “Not bite off my style. What the fuck is that, anyway, thrift store chic?”

“Fuck you, I’m a suit now,” Gabe tells him affably, coming down the stairs to join everyone else. “This is the new Saporta look.”

“The new Saporta look should have gone out in the ‘70s,” Travis says dryly, plucking at the ruffles on Gabe’s dress shirt. “You’re going to give this place a bad name.”

“Could be worse,” Pete suggests, stretching out against the bar. “He could be wearing that onstage.”

“I have rockin’ dance moves,” Gabe informs him. “You only wish you knew.”

“Oh, I think we do know,” Ryland puts in. “I think we all got see them last night, Timberlake.”

“Not everyone can pull off Timberlake,” Gabe defends, holding a hand to his heart. He points at Pete and says, “Fifty bucks if you strip to N*SYNC tonight.”

“Done,” Pete says before Travis can overrule them, heading back towards the dressing rooms. “Brendon, I need your iPod.”

“Sexyback doesn’t count!” Gabe calls after him. He turns around to say something to Travis and nearly runs over William, who looks amused at the near-collision when Gabe recoils to keep his balance. “Hey,” he says, recovering smoothly, because he’s the king of smooth. “You look like you slept.”

“I did, thanks,” William answers. “You look like you fell out of _Boogie Nights_.”

“If that’s your way of saying nice threads, then I compliment you on your good taste,” Gabe tells him with dignity.

William smiles, then adds casually, “You know he’s going to go for _Space Cowboy_ , right?”

“It’s what I would pick,” Gabe says honestly, kicking his legs open wide and miming a lasso. “I mean, you can’t really go wrong with a classic.” He rolls his hips lewdly and William laughs, shaking his head.

“Five minutes,” Travis warns, pausing as Frank zips past him on the way to the dressing rooms. “Get your asses backstage, I need to open up.”

“See you later,” William says, pushing off the stage. Gabe’s about to utter something horribly inane and toolish, like ‘not if I see you first,’ when William adds, “You forgot your contract at my place.”

“Oh right,” Gabe says, briefly thrown off-balance. “Do you have it?”

“No, I forgot it too,” William admits. “I can bring it in tomorrow, if you want.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I can come pick it up,” Gabe assures him. “Tonight after this place closes up? Is that good for you?”

William pauses for a moment, but then he says, “Yeah,” with another one of those little half-smiles that Gabe’s starting to crave like oxygen.

“It’s a plan,” Gabe says, raising his fist. After a second, William bumps it with his own, laughing when Gabe hooks his fingers and attempts to turn it into a secret handshake. Gabe grins at him and lets go, taking a step back so William has room to leave.

He’s just turning to head backstage when they hear Pete yelling, “Bill! I need your hat!”

-

Gabe hangs around the bar chatting with Ryland while William gets changed, and then they head out together to catch the train to William’s place, talking about stupid things like the best late-night snack foods and less-stupid things like the poetry class William took with Pete, once upon a time back in undergrad.

It turns out they both have opinions on music, and that discussion takes them all the way up to William’s door, continuing even after they’re both inside. Finally they reach one of those pauses conversations always hit, the awkward in-between time where no one says anything, and William picks the envelope with Gabe’s contract up from where it’s sitting on the kitchen counter, next to an overgrown plastic plant.

“Not to be cliché, but I had a really good time last night,” William comments, eyes darting away and back as if he’s not sure whether he should make the admission.

“Hey, me too,” Gabe answers immediately. “We should do it again sometime. After you’re finished with midterms and all. Travis and I know some great places.”

“I’ll bet you do,” William answers, with laughter in his eyes. They both stand there for a minute, and then William clears his throat and takes a step forward. Gabe has enough time to think, ‘hey, I know that move,’ before William tilts his head and Gabe automatically moves to counter him.

He forgets about the no-touching rule, which he thinks is probably fine because this is definitely a kiss, not a tease. William’s waist is warm beneath his hands, and he leans forward when their tongues first slide together, swaying into contact with Gabe’s chest.

Gabe catches him before they overbalance, his arm sliding tight around William’s waist to draw him closer. He’s about to back them up against the kitchen counter, the front door, _anything,_ when William pulls away and licks his lips. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then he asks, “Do you want to stay?”

“Fuck yes,” Gabe says without thinking, and then, “If that’s an actual offer, I mean, and not just a theoretical question. Because it’s pretty rhetorical, actually.”

William smiles again, soft around the edges, and says, “My room’s the one on the right.”

Gabe takes the contract, setting it down on William’s paint-can-and-plywood coffee table. Then he reaches for William’s hand and pulls him along towards the bedroom.

“Man, you don’t even have a bed frame,” he laughs when he pushes open the door and sees the mattress on the carpet.

William blushes slightly, and Gabe’s dick sends a little zing of interest back up to his brain, which starts thinking about how all of that skin would look flushed and bare. “I’m getting around to it,” William says, and starts to pull Gabe over to the bed, obviously looking to distract from the state of his shitty furniture, but Gabe has other plans.

“Sit down,” he says, pushing William gently off-balance so he falls back onto the mattress. “I owe you one.” He shakes out his shoulders, popping open his belt buckle, and says, “I’d be better with a pole, though.”

William ignores the innuendo completely, just raises his eyebrows and says, “I don’t keep a practice pole in my room, you know.”

“I see that,” Gabe answers, working the belt loose. “I told you my illusions were shattered. Where’s your stereo?”

William points to the equipment in the corner, and Gabe almost laughs, because William doesn’t have a bed frame, but he has a two-thousand-dollar Bose acoustic sound system.

“The Carpenters?” he asks when he first flips it on. “No fucking way, you fucking pansy. Okay, wait, here we go.” The drum-machine rhythm of hip-hop replaces folk, and Gabe does a little shimmy back to the foot of the bed, slipping his belt loose and waving it over his head. William lounges back on his elbows and raises his eyebrows, and Gabe immediately rises to the challenge in his posture, letting his hips go loose and fluid.

“You’re going to be a tough crowd, aren’t you?” he asks, copping a feel and adjusting himself during the first slow undulation. “Not all of us are professionals, you know.”

“Just dance,” William tells him, one foot rolling back and forth in time with the music. “I want to get my money’s worth.”

“Shit, you didn’t tell me I was getting tips,” Gabe exclaims, bending over and rolling up his spine. “I would have picked a longer song.”

William laughs, still playing casual, but his eyes are bright and fixed on Gabe’s chest when he pulls his shirt over his head, rolling his abs tight. “Less hips,” he murmurs, when Gabe is midway through a spectacular session of humping the air. “I want to see you move.”

Gabe complies, relaxing his body a little, slinking forward until he can straddle William’s lap. “You ever gotten one of these?” he asks, swinging his hips a little, feeling it out.

William shakes his head, looking up at him with naked want in his eyes. “How many people will dance for a professional stripper?” he asks rhetorically, and Gabe leans in close, mirroring what William did to him earlier, finding his rhythm before he bites William’s lip and whispers, “Fucking shame.”

William doesn’t try to touch him, so Gabe reaches for his hands, places them on his own stomach and rolls his hips so that William can feel the hardness of his abs. “You can touch,” he says, grinning. “I don’t have any rules.”

William rolls his eyes, but his hands slide upward, over Gabe’s chest, and then wind their way over his shoulders and around his neck to pull him in closer. Then they’re kissing, and Gabe loses his rhythm in the easy sweep of William’s tongue. He doesn’t even hear the song end.

“How was that for your first dance?” Gabe asks when he catches his breath, still mouthing William’s jaw and working his hands up under his shirt. “We even now?”

“Technically, I gave you two,” William points out, his hands tucked under Gabe’s waistband and urging him even closer.

“I could put my clothes back on and start again,” Gabe offers, kicking his jeans loose and shaking his left foot until they finally drop away, immediately surging forward to push William back onto the bed.

“Maybe another time,” William says, breathy almost to the point of gasping, busy helping Gabe work his shirt off.

“What if I strip you, does that count?” William’s shirt finally hits the floor, and Gabe starts in on his pants, slithering down to undo the button with his teeth. It’s showy, sure, but it’s fucking hot. The way William is looking down at him suggests that he agrees.

William makes a noise that might have been a reply, but by then they’re both racing each other out of their underwear, so Gabe misses it in his mad dash to have William’s mouth open under his again. They push each other up the mattress until they can be horizontal, and then it dissolves into hot mouths and hotter skin, gasped breaths in between kisses.

“Condom,” Gabe says, not meaning for it to come out like such an order, but he can’t really help it, things are getting kind of urgent. William fumbles for the squat bedside table and Gabe pulls a packet out of the drawer, ripping it open with his teeth. “Top or bottom?”

William shakes his head, still moving, ostensibly trying to free himself so Gabe can work but really only tangling them further. “However you want me. I’m flexible.”

“No shit,” Gabe says, leaning in to bite William’s ear, worrying the lobe between his teeth until he hears William’s breath catch. He rolls the condom on himself and says into William’s ear, “I want to be inside you.”

“Lube,” William says, practically bending himself in half to reach the drawer, and Gabe runs his tongue over the flat planes of William’s stomach while he pops the cap on the bottle and groans, arching into the touch. He preps himself while Gabe sucks a hickey onto his sharply-angled hipbone, until Gabe realizes what he’s missing and slides a finger in between the two William is working inside himself, forcing him open wider until he hisses.

“Fuck me,” William says, and Gabe’s not the only one giving orders, apparently, but it’s not like he cares. William’s legs go easily over his shoulders, fucking flexible as he is, and then it’s a long, smooth slide home into the heat of his body.

“Your ass is fucking amazing,” Gabe says fervently, not bothering to hold back once William adjusts and eases, just pounding away because he’s pretty sure that’s what they both want anyway.

William arches up, straining for a better angle, and says, “I thought I didn’t have one.”

“You don’t,” Gabe agrees. “It’s fucking incredible.” William laughs until it strangles off into a moan, and Gabe gets one hand under his hips to lift him up into Gabe’s thrusts.

It’s good, but it’s not good enough. Gabe doesn’t have the balance to jack off William’s cock, and doesn’t have the right angle to drive him crazy in the meantime. “This isn’t doing anything for you, is it?” he asks, forcing himself to slow down.

“It’s fine,” William says, but Gabe’s already pulling out, ignoring the needy pulse of his cock.

“No, shit. We can do better,” he promises. “Turn over.”

William does, rolling fluidly onto his knees and elbows, and Gabe palms his ass, squeezing and kneading to hear the noises William makes when he does it. His cock is ready to go back to the fucking, but his brain has gotten distracted, so it seems like a logical move to lean in and run the flat of his tongue between William’s cheeks.

It tastes like lube, and not gross flavored lube, but gross regular lube, which isn’t all that pleasant and they really should have used flavored, but it’s too late now. Anyway, William makes a startled, grateful noise when he does it again, so the taste in his mouth is totally worth it. He slides in deeper, and William’s hips come off the bed, pushing back against his tongue.

He’s really getting into it when William gasps, “I thought we were fucking.” His hips don’t stop moving, though, so Gabe slides a finger in deep to replace his tongue, wiggling it at just the right angle while he wipes his mouth.

“This is halftime,” he says, sliding his finger back out again slowly.

William laughs, his whole body shaking with it, which is when Gabe gives in and covers him, sliding in deeper than before until his balls are flush against skin, holding still for a second to take in William’s shaky moan.

He hangs on for as long as he can, stroking hard and fast, but eventually William groans, the sound muffled because he’s sunk his teeth into his _own arm,_ and Gabe loses it and just fucks him into the mattress.

He lies there afterwards, breathing hard, inhaling William’s shampoo because his hair is tickling Gabe’s nose. “Give me a second,” he says. “My legs are tingling.”

William twists enough that Gabe has to pull out or become very uncomfortable, and then they both lie there looking at each other. William’s eyes are soft and a little unfocused, half-dazed. Gabe wants to kiss him until he can’t see straight.

He slides down William’s body, their skin squeaking together with sweat, and licks his lips. He fists William’s cock a few times and is just opening his mouth to go down when William arches and comes, both arms flung over his face to muffle the noise he makes. It’s a reasonable amount of noise.

Gabe blinks at him until William peeks out from behind his arms, and then wipes a drop of come from his cheek and says with affront, “I was going to blow you.”

William smiles tiredly, without a single drop of shame. “You shouldn’t have fucked me like that, then,” he says, and his legs spill out to the sides like liquid, his entire body loose and relaxed.

Gabe raises up enough to kiss him and says matter-of-factly, “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

William laughs almost silently, like he doesn’t have enough air yet, and then rolls out of bed, pulling his shirt off the floor and over his head. “I’m going to get some water,” he says, pulling on a pair of boxer shorts and standing up, pushing his hair back where it’s straggling into his face. “Want some?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, spreading out on the mattress lazily. He feels good. He feels fucking great, actually. He’s also hoping this doesn’t end with him getting kicked out, because that was pretty fucking fantastic, and he’s already considering a round two.

William comes back with two bottles of water, and Gabe chugs half of his before setting it aside on the carpet and reaching for William’s shirt.

“Hey,” William protests halfheartedly when Gabe takes his bottle of water away in order to pull the shirt the rest of the way off.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Gabe informs him, pulling William into his lap. William goes easily, loose-limbed and relaxed, and Gabe palms his ass through the material of his boxer shorts. “You’re going to fuck me, right?”

William laughs, almost high enough to be called a giggle. “Maybe after a nap,” he suggests, his fingers curling and flexing in Gabe’s hair, arms around his neck.

Gabe rolls them over onto the mattress, pulling William on top of him. “We can sleep when we’re dead,” he says, and William doesn’t protest again.

-

“I have to go to work,” William murmurs against Gabe’s mouth, somewhere between lazy, blurred-together kisses.

Gabe makes a noise that he hopes expresses his feelings about that course of action, and slides a thigh between William’s legs. William moans in an extremely satisfying way, but pulls back a second later when Gabe goes to kiss him again.

“I have to get out of bed so I can go to work,” he tries again, squirming away from Gabe’s hands but capitulating gracefully into the next kiss.

“I’m so not down with this plan,” Gabe informs him, dragging his mouth over William’s collarbone to suck on his throat.

“Stop it,” William says breathlessly, although the pushes of his hands are ineffectual and heartfelt at best. “I’m a stripper, you can’t give me hickeys.”

“Too late,” Gabe replies cheerfully, dotting kisses down William’s chest over every place he’s left a mark.

William groans, and takes advantage of Gabe’s distraction to roll them over and straddle him. “Now I really have to go,” he says, hair hanging down over his eyes when he leans in for a kiss, slow and open-mouthed. When they break apart, he says, “I have to get there early so I’ll have time to cover these.”

“Pete’s magical makeup kit?” Gabe asks brightly, lifting himself onto his elbows when William sits back so that he can get his mouth on William’s nipple.

“Pete’s foundation is too dark for me,” William says distractedly, one hand coming up to cradle Gabe’s head and hold him in place.

Gabe laughs, switching to the other nipple and letting his hands wander lazily down to William’s hips. “I’m your boss now,” he points out. “I can give you the day off.”

“You’re not my boss yet,” William argues, arching back away from Gabe’s mouth. Gabe just tightens his grip on William’s hips, dragging him forward again. “Travis hasn’t signed that contract yet, it’s not legally binding.”

“Ooh, law talk,” Gabe mutters between kisses scattered across William’s shoulder. “Baby, you’re getting me so hot.”

William laughs, but wrestles himself away before Gabe has the chance to roll them over again. He pulls on a shirt left carelessly on the floor and stops mid-motion, one hand frozen in the act of combing through his hair. “This isn’t about the dancing, is it?” he asks cautiously.

“The fuck?” Gabe responds eloquently.

William crosses his arms, looking ridiculous in a shirt and nothing else, but also frighteningly determined. “I’m not quitting,” he says flatly. “This isn’t going to be you saving me from a lifestyle of degradation.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gabe props himself up on his elbows, eyebrows arched. “I’ve seen how much money you bring in. Fuck no, you’re not quitting.”

William’s expression softens slightly, but he still presses on. “And you’re not going to go apeshit on me whenever you see me with another guy?”

Gabe sits up and raises both hands in surrender. “I’m not that kind of guy,” he promises. “Hell, I’ll even give a couple of lapdances myself if it’ll make you feel better. Even the score.”

William leans in over the bed, crawling close enough to bite Gabe’s lip before soothing it with a kiss. “Exhibitionist,” he accuses.

Gabe mouths his earlobe, biting hard enough to make William melt against him. “Let’s do it with the curtains open,” he murmurs suggestively.

William laughs, pushing him down and struggling back out of bed. “Later,” he says. “I have to go.”

Gabe crosses his arms behind his head, watching William dress with sincere regret. “Shower?” he suggests hopefully.

“I’ll shower at work,” William says, zipping up another pair of sinfully tight jeans. He tosses a pair of boxer shorts over Gabe’s face on his way out and calls, “Coming?”

Gabe has to take a moment to seriously think it over, because the bed is warm and welcoming, but he knows it will be less so without William in it. “Yeah,” he says finally to the empty room, and then has to chase William down at the bus stop because he doesn’t get dressed fast enough.

William drops his hand before they get to the club, splitting off as soon as they walk in to head towards the dressing room, but Travis still takes one look at Gabe and shakes his head. “Man, tell me you didn’t,” he says, with an inflection that says he already knows very well that Gabe did.

“I signed the contract,” Gabe tells him with a grin. “You can’t get rid of me now. Victoria,” he adds as she walks past, “you are looking positively charming today. Are those new shoes?”

“Oh shit,” Ryland says, laughing. “It’s like that, is it?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Gabe says glibly. “Get me a drink, I own you now.”

“It’s like fucking _Pretty Woman_ ,” Travis says, shaking his head.

“Fuck you,” Gabe says, grinning so hard he feels like his face is splitting. “And I’m serious about that drink.”

-

They’re grouped around the bar, getting ready for the traditional Friday-night toast to welcome Gabe formally into the fold, when Frank sneezes. Everyone stops, looking down the bar at Frank, who promptly sneezes again, then breaks the silence with a loud, “ _Fuck._ ”

Travis shakes his head. “Man, I’m already down a dancer,” he says. “You couldn’t make it through the weekend?”

Frank looks miserably at him, then sneezes again. Victoria reaches into her purse and fishes out a packet of tissues and a zinc tablet.

William sighs. “Pete and I can handle it,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. Gabe doesn’t blame him.

“Yo, I could pitch in,” he offers, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” William says, and when Gabe opens his mouth again, he laughs and repeats, “ _No._ ”

Travis chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Bill, how serious is that law friend of yours about not dancing?”

William shrugs one shoulder. “I can ask,” he offers. “We have a bachelorette party coming in tomorrow night, right? He might be up for it, just for fun.”

“Shit, I forgot about them,” Travis says, rubbing his nose. “We’re going to be slammed.”

“I could do it,” someone else pipes up, and Gabe twists around along with everyone else to see Brendon perched on the other side of the bar, swinging his legs off the high stool. “I could,” he insists. “I’ve been practicing. I’ve worked here forever, I know all the moves. I know the routine, too, you wouldn’t even have to move anything around.”

Travis looks at him, speculative but still dubious. “I don’t think so,” he says finally, which makes Brendon’s face fall to almost comical effect. Because Travis is a big cuddly teddy bear, Gabe thinks it’s the slight protrusion of the lower lip, along with the big wounded doe eyes, that unintentionally turn the tables.

“Okay, fine,” Travis relents, holding up his hand. “One night, trial basis.” Brendon practically vibrates in place with excitement, his whole face lighting up. Gabe reaches over to clap his shoulder while Travis mutters, “I’m already regretting this.”

“Are we going to toast or what?” Gabe asks, picking up a shot glass from the row on the bar. “To Brendon’s exotic dancing debut.”

“Hey, that’s not how we do it around here,” Travis says mildly, but he reaches over to ruffle Brendon’s hair before he picks up a glass and toasts. “To us.”

“To us,” Gabe echoes, looking straight at William as he says it.

William rolls his eyes, but when he raises the glass to his lips, he’s looking back and smiling.


End file.
